Bella's Day at the Beach
by Sceptic01
Summary: Short fic written as a challenge. Not meant to be taken seriously. At all.
1. Part 1

**A/N:** This is the product of a very bored week last summer. Written as a challenge by a friend, so don't take it too seriously. Enjoy!

**Part 1**

Bellatrix Black sat gloomily on the stony beach staring moodily out at the grey sea. For some reason England never seemed to catch on that summertime meant heat and sunshine and the weather was staying resolutely cold and wet. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and huddled into her thick coat, looking around in search of her reason to be here. The informant was late – over half an hourlate.

She scowled and reached inside her coat, pulling out a copy of the Daily Prophet and a pen. Flicking idly to the middle page, she scanned the crossword and attempted some of the clues. _5 Down: Muggle aurors (9)_ What were they called again? Pleasemen? Yes, that fitted...

_8Across: Current headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus ----- (10)_ These puzzles were getting insultingly easy nowadays...

Bella only looked up from her paper when a shadow fell across her. She glanced up, regarding the man standing there warily.

"Can I help you?" she ventured, casting an eye over his shabby clothes and torn overcoat. He was in serious need of a good shave and a comb for that matter. Longish brown hair blew about his face in the gentle breeze, half concealing a deep scar that ran across his left temple.

"Nice weather for the time of year, isn't it?" he asked, pleasantly.

"Not particularly," sniffed Bella, turning back to the crossword and hoping he would go away.

"No, you're right. It's bloody awful," admitted the man, smiling grimly. "Do you come here often?"

"Not often," she replied shortly, inspecting his decrepit shoes out of the cornCp>"Not particularly," sniffed Bella, turning back to the crossword and hoping he would go away.

"No, you're right. It's bloody awful," admitted the man, smiling grimly. "Do you come here often?"

"Not often," she replied shortly, inspecting his decrepit shoes out of the corner of her eye. It was obvious they had once been quite stylish but years of daily use and lack of polish had left them scuffed and frayed, with only a hint of their former distinction.

"No, I didn't think I'd seen you before," remarked the man, twisting the rope he held in his hand and gazing distantly out to sea.

Bella squinted up at him, trying to make out his expression, but the sun, although cold, had made an appearance and he was silhouetted against the bright light, his face cast into shadow.

"You live around here?" she asked, relenting at last since the man showed no inclination to take the hint and leave her alone.

"Elm Street," he replied. "Behind the Post Office."

"_Behind_ the Post Office?"

"Yes," he affirmed, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to live around the back of state buildings. "With Bertha."

"Bertha?"

The man tugged on the rope and the creature on the end of it trotted forward, surveying Bella dolefully with large brown eyes.

"It's a cow," she said blankly.

"She's a heifer, to be precise," corrected the man, evidently proud of this fact, although Bella hadn't the faintest idea why.

"Right," said Bella slowly. The man was obviously insane, so it was probably best to simply go along with him and make a hasty escape as soon as the opportunity presented itself. As long as she made no sudden moves she'd be fine.

"I see you're engaged," the man commented, gesturing to the diamond studded ring she wore on her left hand. "For love or money?"

"I really don't think that's any of your business," said Bella, staring incredulously at him.

"Ah, money then," nodded the man sagely. "I was married once. She was a marine biologist. Not a very good one unfortunately – once mistook a shark for a fish. A very big fish," he added, seeing Bella's disbelieving expression.

"Sounds like she needed glasses," muttered Bella, pondering over 3 Down: _Four footed beast, excels in divination (7)_.

"Oh she did have glasses, but they fell off when she leaned over the boat to get a closer look," explained the man sadly. "Tragic really."

"Losing her glasses was tragic?" asked Bella vaguely, now thoroughly bored with the stranger.

"Not as such – more the fact that she then decided to go swimming with the 'big fish' was tragic. I told her she should have worn contact lenses..." He smiled absently and glanced down at the paper in her lap. "It's policemen, by the way."

"What?"

"Muggle aurors. They're called policemen, not pleasemen."

Bella frowned and corrected the word grudgingly as the man continued, "And now it's too late to look for another wife; you lose your faith in love when you get to my age."

Bella glanced up at him; he couldn't have been more than sixty. "You're not that old," she said carelessly.

The man smiled, "You may not think so yet, but you are still young. How old are you now? Twenty five?"

"Twenty seven," said Bella nonchalantly.

"See? You've got years ahead of you yet," said the man jauntily. "No, I give you about thirty years till you suddenly wake up one morning and realise you've wasted half your life. That's when old age kicks in – when you realise you're not eighteen anymore."

Bella laid down her pen and looked up at the man curiously. "Why are you telling me all this?"

The man shrugged, "You looked as though you needed reminding."

"Reminding of what?" she demanded.

"That you're still young. It's never too late to start living, you know."

"Doesn't that contradict what you just said?" Bella countered, arching an eyebrow at him.

The man beamed, "So you were listening? But perhaps you do not believe me? Ah well, at least I tried. Come along Bertha, we'll be late for market. Goodbye Bella. Have a nice day."

"Yeah, you too," she murmured, tucking the paper inside her jacket and walking slowly away up the rocky beach towards the smooth tarmaced road above.

It was only when she was half way along the seafront that she realised the man had called her Bella. Funny – she'd never told him her name. She frowned, looking back across the grey beach but saw no sign of the stranger. Shaking her head, she glanced across the street at the row of seaside shops and cafés. A sign above one of them caught her eye: _The Mariner and the Shark_.


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

Hadn't the man said something about a shark and his wife – the marine biologist? Bella paused a moment, then crossed the street and walked into the café. It was a pleasant enough diner, with the customary tasteless interior decoration that seemed to infest all seaside resorts. Starfish and lobsters had been stencilled onto the wall which was painted a sickly tan colour that Bella supposed was meant to give the impression of sand.

She walked up to the counter where a pleasant looking woman was explaining something patiently into a curious device Bella had heard muggles call a telephone.

"...well you see, it's bigger on the inside," the woman was saying in the tones of one who is being perfectly calm but at any moment may shout something rather obscene and slam down the phone out of sheer irritation.

She caught sight of Bella and gave her a small smile before gesturing to one of the waitresses to come and serve her. A world-weary looking woman of about 33 strolled over the counter, threw a sullen look at the woman on the telephone and turned to Bella. Her sandy coloured badge proclaimed her to be: Fidelma Ivanova.

"Vot can I get you?" she asked in a thick Bulgarian accent.

"Just a cup of tea," replied Bella, studying her curiously.

"I'll bring it right over," she said in a monotone voice, punching in some commands on the strange looking device in front of her. Bella nodded and took a seat at a nearby table, trying to remember where she'd heard the surname Ivanova before.

When Fidelma returned a minute later with the hot beverage, Bella asked softly. "You're not related to Demitri Ivanova, are you?"

Fidelma gave her an odd look. "He's my brother."

"Really? He's a very good Quidditch player," smiled Bella, stirring sugar into her tea.

Fidelma's dark eyes flickered over Bella's face for a moment, as though she was unsure of how to respond to this, then said: "He practices a lot."

"Do you live round here?"

"Above the restaurant," affirmed Fidelma, leaning against the counter and surveying Bella interestedly.

"Do you happen to know of any local vagrants? " ventured Bella, trying to sound nonchalant.

Fidelma fixed Bella with a bemused look. "Vhy?"

"I'm uh, doing a survey."

"Vell... There's Granny Gertrude – she's a gypsy. Comes in the summer for the tourists; reads palm and such," said Fidelma slowly, giving Bella a conspiratorial look. "People say she is a vitch, but that is nonsense of course. Vitchs do not exist."

"Of course," agreed Bella. "Anyone else?"

"Let me think. Oh yes, there is alvays old Gerard – he lives in a piano box behind the Post Office."

"Really?" asked Bella. This sounded promising. "Does he, by any chance, have a pet cow?" she inquired, trying not to feel incredibly stupid.

"A cow?" repeated Fidelma, raising her dark eyebrows. "Not that I know of."

"You sure? It's quite old."

"The only old cow I know of round here is her upstairs," said Fidelma grimly. "Bertha Heifer – my landlady."

"Is there any chance I could speak with her?" asked Bella, grinning. So this was the informant's game was it? Send a messenger to check her out and then drop just enough hints that a fairly intelligent person, such as herself, would know where to find her.

"Votever for?" asked Fidelma, looking puzzled.

"I'm interested in renting out a place around here; I'd like to get her advice on potential lodgings," lied Bella smoothly.

Fidelma eyed Bella suspiciously for a few moments then shrugged. "She's up there now. Just go through that passageway there and follow it until you get to the staircase. She lives in room 9."

"Thanks," said Bella, leaving her barely touched tea on the table and heading towards the passageway Fidelma had indicated.

Room 9 was opened by a squat looking woman wearing a puffy purple skirt, a tweed jacket and a grumpy expression. A violently orange headscarf was tied around her frayed brown hair and large hoop earrings glittered gold in the yellow light cast by the dying electric lamp that lit the stairwell.

"Yes?" she asked brusquely, squinting at Bella through large black eyes. "What do you want?"

"I'm Bellatrix Black."

Bertha eyed her dubiously for a few seconds then stepped back. "You'd better come in."

Bella followed Bertha into a dimly lit passageway and on into what she supposed was the main room.

"Wait here," Bertha ordered, before shuffling off into a side room. Bella looked around at the ensemble of mismatched furniture and multicoloured throws; this woman deserved to be arrested for heinous crimes against interior decoration. She looked up as the old woman tottered back in carrying a folder wrapped in a plastic bag. "It's all here," she leered. "All the information the master required."

Bella smiled curtly, anxious to be out of there. "I'm sure the Dark Lord sends his deepest thanks. I'll be going now," she said, taking the bag and nodding to the old woman.

"You won't stay for a cup of tea?"

"No thank you. I'd really better be getting back," said Bella courteously, heading towards the door.

"Very well then."

"Pleasure doing business with you," smiled Bella, before turning and sweeping out of the flat. She walked swiftly down the stairs and into the café. Fidelma held a hand out to stop her as she made go out into the street.

"You didn't pay for your tea," she said appraisingly.

Bella looked over at the cup of brown liquid and shrugged. "It's cold. Do you expect me to drink tepid beverages? It's poor quality – I'm not paying."

And with that, she tossed her silky black hair over her shoulder and strode out into the street, the carrier bag tucked under one arm. The Dark Lord was going to be very pleased with her...


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

"...doing business with you."

The door slammed and James heard Bertha's grouchy tones murmur: "You too, cousin."

A few seconds later, the door to the bathroom opened and Bertha herself appeared, a wicked grin on her face.

"What _are_ you wearing, mate?" laughed James, eyeing the lurid outfit in an amused fashion.

"I could say the same for you," retorted Bertha in rather more masculine tones than she had previously used. "Nice rags. Where's Wormtail?"

"He couldn't manage the stairs. I shut him in an empty garage," shrugged James, peering at himself in the mirror. "You know, I kinda like the beard. I might keep it."

Sirius laughed, untying his headscarf and grinning at his friend. "I'd like to see you get Lily's permission to do that."

"I don't need her permission, Padfoot," said James huffily. "I can do whatever I like. In fact, I will grow a beard," he said defiantly.

"You're not growing a beard, James," said Lily's firm tones from behind Sirius.

James jumped and turned around to face his wife. "I…er…I was only joking," he said hastily, not managing to sound entirely plausible. Lily rolled her eyes and pulled her apron off, glancing at her watch.

"We've got another five minutes until the polyjuice wears off," she said, folding the apron and tugging a large bag out from under a sofa.

"Let me do that," injected Sirius, flashing her a charming smile and hauling the bag out.

"Sirius, don't use that smile," said Lily, shaking her head despairingly.

"Why not?" asked Sirius, grinning at her as he unzipped the bag and pulled out a change of clothes.

"Because you're currently a seventy three year old woman with a grand total of eight teeth and it's disturbing," said James, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.

Lily laughed at Sirius' vaguely miffed expression and grabbed her clothes from the bag before heading towards the small bedroom opposite.

"Hey, where are you going?" called Sirius after her.

"To get changed," said Lily, arching an eyebrow at him. "You have a problem with that?"

"Damn right I do; why can't you get changed out here?" demanded Sirius.

Lily smirked at him and waved a hand a James' furious glare. "Because of that," she said sweetly as James smacked Sirius in the back of the head.

"Stop ogling my wife, Bertha," ordered James, scowling at his friend.

"She's not your wife, Gerard. Your wife was eaten by a shark," retorted Sirius, ducking out harms way. "Lily is currently masquerading as the lovely Fidelma Ivanova of Bulgaria, therefore I can ogle all I want."

"Padfoot, you're a seventy three year old landlady with an atrocious sense of style. You aren't allowed to eye up the waitress," argued James, tossing a cushion at his best friend.

Sirius caught it and grinned at James. "Your hair's back."

"So are your arms," chuckled James. "Where's a camera when you need one? I've got to get a picture of Sirius the transvestite. That'll be one to show the grandkids."

"You haven't even got a baby yet," remarked Sirius, tugging off the purple skirt and pulling on a pair of faded jeans instead.

James smirked and dropped the shabby overcoat into the bag. "Not yet," he agreed.

Sirius threw the tweed jacket and blouse on top of the coat and gave James a searching look. "Why are you smirking like that?"

"No reason," said James casually, pulling on black trousers and clean shirt. Sirius sat on the arm of a chair, reviewing him critically.

"You're not a very good liar, Prongs," he said steadily. "Heaven knows how you used to get away with it at school."

"Get away with what?" asked Lily, emerging from the bedroom and packing the waitress uniform neatly in the bag.

Sirius was about to respond when there came the sound of footsteps on the creaky stairs.

"Moony's back, then," said James, zipping up the bag and transfiguring it into a pocket watch which he slipped inside his coat. "We'd better go say hello."

The three of them filed out of the peculiar little flat into the small hall beyond. James draped his arm around Lily's shoulders and greeted Remus at the top of the stairs while Sirius closed the door quietly and nonchalantly turned the 9 on the door the right way up, hoping Lily's charm was as good as they thought it was.

"…very good thank you," chattered the old woman leaning on Remus' arm. She smiled amiably up at Sirius, her blue eyes studying him carefully. "And you're Sirius Black, aren't you? Remus has told me so much about you."

"All good I hope," said Sirius, only half joking.

"Are you implying you're not good?" asked the old lady, fumbling in her purse for her keys.

Sirius frowned, thrown by this comment and glanced at Remus who grinned at him.

"Of course Sirius is a good boy, Aunt Bertha," Remus assured as his aunt fished the keys out of her bag.

Aunt Bertha gave Sirius an appraising look. "I don't believe that for one moment, Remus dear. Are you all coming in for a cup of tea?" she added, turning the key in the lock and looking around at them.

"Well…" began Sirius.

"Of course you are," she filled in, pushing open the door and tottering happily into brightly lit hallway.

The three of them looked at Remus, who shrugged. "You don't get a choice, you know. She's very insistent."

"Did you have a good time shopping?" asked Sirius.

"Yeah, it was ok… Where's Peter, by the way?" inquired Remus, frowning.

"I left him in a garage," said James carelessly.

"So why isn't he here? Surely he's back to normal by now," said Lily, giving her husband a calculating look.

"Um, I may have locked it...from the outside," said James, suddenly looking rather guilty.

"James Potter! Go let him out this instant," ordered Lily, green eyes blazing.

"But Remus' aunt-" began James hopefully.

"Go! We'll tell her you've gone to pick someone up."

"But-"

"James," said Lily warningly.

"Ok, I'm going, I'm going," said James, throwing up his hands and hurrying down the stairs.

"Did Bella fall for it?" asked Remus in a low voice as the three of them walked into the flat.

"Hook, line and sinker," grinned Sirius.

"She's not a fish, Padfoot," chuckled Remus, collapsing into a comfy armchair and grinning at his friend.

"She may as well be once she gives Voldemort that information," retorted Sirius. "Or at least, when he finds out it's counterfeit." He grinned and cast an eye around the now neat, cosy little room. "Looks like your charm worked perfectly, Lily."

"Of course it did," said Lily, a tad smugly.

"What happens if someone turns the six upside down again?" asked Remus. "I don't want Aunt Bertha coming home to technicoloured flat. It'd scare the life out of her."

"Don't worry, it's a one use only charm," assured Lily as Aunt Bertha tottered out of the kitchen, a tray piled high with cups, plates, a teapot and a wide variety of different cakes.

"Well, tuck in my dears," she beamed just as a knock at the door announced the return of James and a slightly disgruntled looking Peter. Once everyone was seated she settled back into a chair and surveyed them all, blue eyes sparkling. "So, why don't you tell me all about your day at the beach?"

The four friends glanced at each other, wondering where exactly to start.

"Well..."


End file.
